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Monday, January 6, 2014

V9:Chapter Thirteen-Waking Reality

Volume NineChapter
Thirteen

Waking
Reality

In which Dodger demands to dream

Falling
to his death wasn’t as terrible as Dodger feared it might be. Sure, at first
there was a fair amount of flailing and grasping for support and lolling about
in the inky blackness, but after a few hundred feet, Dodger remembered that this
was indeed a dream. And, as they say, it isn’t the falling that’s the problem;
it’s the landing that got you. He took comfort in the fact that there was a
very real possibility that the dream abyss was endless, though a possibility
wasn’t strong enough medicine to completely ease his worry. The doc warned that
no one could spontaneously awaken from a session with the DREAM machine, yet
Dodger wasn’t just anyone; he was a marked man, and he didn’t suppose the fates
would keep him alive this long just to trap him in a young lady’s bad dream.

Dodger
pondered his options for a moment, and decided that if he couldn’t wake himself
internally, he would have to get the doc to wake him from the outside. But how?
As he continued to fall, Dodger mulled this over, reaching for any viable
option. In the distance of his memory, he heard the doc commanding his metal
manservant.

“Of course there is something else, you
metal nitwit. With Lelanea occupied I’ll need you to assist me in monitoring
their vitals.”

This
flash of memory sparked an idea. Calmness be damned! He returned to his
struggle against the abyss, kicking and screaming and flailing about, but this
time with focus. He boxed with the darkness and hollered at the emptiness and
lashed out with his legs at the nothingness, hoping his sleeping body displayed
the effects of his dreaming efforts. Dodger fought and fought for what seemed
an eternity, until his arms began to tire, his legs grew heavy, and his hopes
for rescue started to fade.

“Wake
up!” someone cried in his ear.

He
jerked awake and sat bolt upright. He glanced to his left, then his right, and
it took less than a second for him to realize he didn’t know where he was. He
leapt from the chair and backed himself into a vacant corner of the crowded
room, his hands searching his waist for his guns but coming up empty. He raised
his fists before him, ready for an attack as he scanned the area for anything
he could use as a weapon. The room was small wit a cot, two chairs, one sliding
door, one shuttered window. Four people filled the cramped room; two elderly
males—one Caucasian, one Chinese—and two sleeping females— both Caucasian, one preteen
and one in her mid twenties or so. A metal statue stood near the door, while a
strange piece of unidentifiable equipment sat between the chairs. The room
seemed to rock ever so faintly, but movement was definitely there, which meant
he was aboard a vehicle of some kind. The narrow nature of the cabin suggested
train, though the subtlety of the movement said boat. With no real weapons in
sight, he kept his fists raised high.

“Where
am I?” he asked.

“Oh
dear,” the Caucasian male said, in a light British accent. “I was afraid of
this.”

“Dodger?”
the Chinaman said, with a surprising lack of accent. “Do you know who we are?” The
Chinaman motioned between the pair of strangers.

He
stared at the men, wondering who in the hell this Dodger was. “Answer me or I
will kill you where you stand.”

“I
don’t think he knows who he is,” the Brit said.

“Where
am I?” he asked again.

A
tinny voice issued from the metallic statue. “Trust me, we’re in hell.”

He
backed further into the corner at the sound. “Did that thing speak?”

“No,”
the statue said, “I’m not speaking. I’m baking a cake.”

“Lay
off,” the Chinaman said. “He is bad enough without the wisecracks.”

“Shame,
because they are the only wise things around here lately. What is wrong with Sergeant
Hardhead?”

“Just
a bit of memory loss,” the Brit said. “Seems he has forgotten the last few
days. And weeks. And possibly years.”

He
kept his fists high, in case one of these crazy strangers tried to jump him. “What
is going on here? Answer me!”

“If
I had a number eighty-one I could right this,” the Brit said. “Otherwise, I
don’t know what else can be done but wait him out.”

“We
don’t have time for that,” the Chinaman said. “Rodger Dodger, look at me.”

The
name sounded as familiar as it did silly. He glanced to the Chinaman, trying his
best to keep the other man in his peripheral vision, and failing. Once he
locked gazes with the dazzling eyes of the Chinaman, everything else seemed to
melt away. The room, the other folks, the strange talking metal man. And all
the while the Chinaman never moved, never wavered, but his eyes … those eyes
lit up brighter than a switchman’s lantern on a foggy night. They just shined
and shined and shined. In the depth of that luminescence, Dodger recognized the
flickering images of his own memories.

Dodger
blinked a few times, then winced. His head ached fiercely, leaving his temples
pounding with pain. “What happened?”

“Dodger?”
the doc asked. “It is Dodger, yes?”

“Who
else would it be?”

This
drew a bright grin from the doc, but the humor of the moment passed as quick as
it came.

“Sir?”
Torque asked far too politely.

Dodger
glanced over to find Feng dangling from the arms of the clockwork man, either
passed out or near as damn it.

The
doc scooted across the room to the Celestial’s side. He stooped to pat the
man’s cheek a few times. “Feng? Old friend, are you still with us?”

Feng
stirred and groaned. “I’m not dead yet, if that’s what you mean.”

“Thank
Freya for that.”

“What
happened?” Dodger asked.

“Nothing
I can’t handle,” Feng said. The Celestial leaned away from the metal butler and
tried to stand of his own accord, only to tumble back into Torque’s
outstretched arms.

“Looks
like you need a rest,” Dodger said.

“You
should rest a while too,” the doc said. “Your brain has suffered a tremendous
shock.”

Dodger
rubbed his aching head. “I do feel a bit fuzzy around the edges.”

“What
do you remember?”

“I
remember you attaching me to that machine. I went to sleep and woke up in a
forest. I think Boon and I fought a dragon.”

“I
heard all about that. You sound like you handled yourself with aplomb.”

“Yeah,
I don’t know about all that. I remember we got kidnapped by dwarves. But Sarah
helped us escape and followed that knight of hers to a chasm where …” Dodger’s
eyes widened as he remembered the attack just before he fell. “We were under
attack. I mean they were under attack. I was busy falling down the chasm, but
the others were in trouble. They probably still are.”

“Ah,
falling. Yes, that would explain why your heart rate jumped so high and your
breathing-”

“You
gotta send me back,” Dodger said over the doc.

The
doc shook his head and clucked his tongue in disapproval. “No, no, no. I forbid
it. You are lucky you survived with your brain intact this time around. I won’t
subject you to the same-”

“You
have to send me back.” Dodger grabbed the doc by the shoulders. “The others
need me. I can’t just leave them like that.”

“Mr.
Dodger, isolating your consciousness is not as easy as flipping a switch. It is
an extremely dangerous process. Employing the DREAM machine is detrimental to
the brain, not to mention the way I had to pull you out so quickly. Granted,
those detriments are small and your brain will heal over time, but not unless
it is allowed to heal. If you go back into Sarah’s dream moments after the way
you exited, there is no telling what will happen. I can not, nay, I will not
let you risk your mind in such a manner.”

“Sir,
I ain’t asking. Send me back. Now.”

The
doc lost his usual jovial attitude, and frowned at Dodger. “The answer is no.”

Dodger
lowered himself to his knees as best he could, considering the room was so
small and he was not a man prone to imploring another for help. “I’m begging
you, Doc. Please send me back. I can’t abandon them like that.”

The
doc stared down at Dodger, that cold stare not shifting in the slightest.

“Do
it, Hieronymus,” Feng said.

“I
can’t let him risk it,” the doc whispered without taking his eyes off of
Dodger.

“What’s
to risk? If he doesn’t help them get Sarah to wake up, it won’t matter either
way.”

“He’s
right,” Dodger said. “I have to help them, or we’re all doomed.”

The
doc remained silent for a full thirty seconds, as if weighing Dodger’s
submissive posture, as well as the words of his oldest friend. Finally, he
said, “Torque, take Feng to his quarters and put him to bed.”

“There
is no way I’m missing-” the metal man started.

“Now!”
the doc yelled.

Dodger
winced at the professors shout.

“Come
on, buddy,” Feng said. “You don’t want to watch this anyway.”

The
metal man grumbled to himself as he lifted the Celestial and exited the room. Once
the sound of the door closing behind the pair drifted down the hall, the doc offered
Dodger a hand.

“Get
up from there,” he said.

“Thanks,”
Dodger said, grabbing his employer’s hand and rising to his feet. “I understand
it’s risky, but they need-”

“No,”
the doc said over him. “You don’t understand. If you really did, you wouldn’t
want to do this. I disapprove for a reason, young man, not just because I can.
You risk losing your identity. Your whole personality. Everything that makes
you, you. Do you think you understand that?”

Dodger
did understand; especially after showing up in Sarah’s dream as a Tyler Crank
look alike. He reckoned he ran the risk of losing his identity the whole while,
but there was no way he would let the doc know. “Yes, sir.”

“I
doubt you truly do, but I will go forward with this as my advisor suggests. Not
because you begged me to, but because he said it was for the best. When this is
successful—and I expect you to succeed after risking so much—we will discuss
disciplinary measures, Mr. Dodger. I will not have my staff contradicting my
direct orders. Or commanding me. Do you understand?”

“Yes,
sir.” Dodger didn’t know what else to say. He had never heard the doc so upset.
Hanging his head, he shifted from foot to foot, feeling every bit the scolded
schoolboy.

The
doc pointed to the empty chair. “Sit down. And for the love of all that is
holy, stop pouting. You’re worse than that bucket of bolts.”

Dodger
sat and did his best not to appear sullen. He didn’t mean to upset the old man,
but damn it! He had to get back and help the others. The doc handed him the
beanie, which he dutifully placed on his head. He watched as the professor
yanked his bag from the floor and began digging through it. After some rifling,
he came up with his syringe gun, and a vial of something vile.

“Since
you insist on a speedy return,” the doc said, “I will have to put you to sleep
by medicinal means. Is that acceptable?”

“Yes,
sir,” Dodger said and rolled up a sleeve.

“This
concoction will keep you asleep for a long time, and it shall be exceedingly
hard to awaken from. Even when the dreamer awakes you may continue to sleep for
several more hours. I can wake you by another injection, but I will not until I
am certain your brain has recuperated. Understood?”

“Yes,
sir.” Dodger supposed he could use to extra hours to get back in touch with his
own mind once he was done with Sarah’s.

“There
is also the chance that you may return in the dream to the exact spot you
exited. And this time your sleep will be far too deep to use the same tricks to
escape. You will have to wait for the dreamer to awaken and the effects of the
serum to pass.”

While
Dodger didn’t relish the idea of falling for a faux eternity, he was willing to
chance it in order to get back and rescue the others. “I will do what I must.”

“I
suppose you shall.”

The
doc swabbed at the exposed skin, then pressed the gun against Dodger’s arm.
With a grunt, the doc fired, sending the needle home. Dodger somehow managed to
keep from crying aloud, even though it burned like the devil himself had jabbed
Dodger with a red hot poker heated right in bowels of hell. As the doc pulled
his gun away, Dodger snapped his hand over the man’s wrist, holding him in
place.

“Thank
you, sir,” Dodger said. “I won’t ever forget this.”

“See
that you don’t.” The doc’s face softened, melting into a caring smile. “Now, Washington would say, go
get ‘em.”

“I
will, sir. I half ebery impentshun uhb dooo …” Dodger tried to say, but he
didn’t quite get to the end before his lips gave out.